Calling All Neighbours (Calling All... Book 4)

by Tara Ford

  “Hello,” said Tiff, smiling sweetly.

  The old man offered a handshake to Joe. “Name’s Cyril and the dear lady wife – ‘er indoors…” Cyril chuckled, “or should I call her the lady of the manor? Is Betty.”

  “It’s very nice to meet you,” Joe replied courteously as he shook Cyril’s hand.

  “She… my Betty, saw you out here this morning. Daft bat – she’s made a cake for you. Like’s to welcome new neighbours in with a cake.”

  Joe looked across to Tiff and grinned. “That’s very kind of her. We like cake, don’t we Tiff?”

  Tiff smiled and stood up with the paint brush held in her hand. “Thank you. How sweet of her.”

  “Date and walnut,” said Cyril, proudly. “My Bet makes a good date and walnut cake. Not allergic to nuts are you?”

  Simultaneously, Joe and Tiff shook their heads. “No, thankfully,” said Joe.

  As if on cue, a tiny, frail looking woman appeared at the front door holding a large cake wrapped in greaseproof paper. Her pale pink, flowery apron was covered in flour and smudges of cake mix. Her brilliant white hair was scooped up in a beige hair net and her rose coloured, powdered cheeks dominated her tiny features. She smiled warmly as she stepped out of the door. “Welcome to Sycamore Close,” she said in a quiet, gentle voice. “I thought you might like this as a house-warming gift.”

  “That is so very kind of you,” said Tiff, passing by Joe and Cyril and reaching the gate of number five. “It’s lovely to meet you too, especially as we live right next door to you. My name is Tiffany – everyone calls me Tiff – and this is my partner Joe.”

  Betty nodded and passed the cake to Tiff. “I do hope you will like it. It’s my speciality.”

  “Partner? You’re married then?” said Cyril, watching his wife pass the heavy cake over the gate.

  “No,” replied Joe. “If she’s lucky, I might just marry her one day.” He laughed, embarrassedly.

  Cyril darted his eyes across from Joe to Tiff and then cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Ah, sorry. Hope I haven’t put my foot in it.”

  “No, not at all,” replied Tiff. “On the contrary – he’ll be the lucky one if I decide to accept a marriage proposal.” Mouthing a ‘thank you’ to Betty, Tiff took the cake back to her house and placed it inside, on the bottom step of the stairs before returning outside. “I was joking by the way,” she added as she rejoined the small gathering by next door’s gate.

  “Phew,” puffed Joe as he wiped a hand across his brow. “I was worried there for a minute.” Placing an arm round Tiff’s shoulders, he pulled her in tightly. “We have done things a little unconventionally. Bought the house first. Everything else can come later.”

  “That’s the young folk of today I suppose.” Cyril sighed. “We don’t have any children of our own but we can see how the youngsters do things a lot differently nowadays.”

  Joe nodded his head agreeably. “And not always for the better.”

  “I agree with you.” Cyril paused thoughtfully. Leaning over towards Joe’s ear, he lowered his voice, “Not like some around here.”

  Joe frowned and Tiff gave him a quizzical stare as she heard Cyril’s last words.

  “Her – on your left. Number three.”

  “Ah, yes,” said Joe, waveringly. “I err… met her this morning.” Darting his eyes towards Tiff, he grinned. “I meant to tell you babe.”

  Tiff smiled awkwardly.

  “Woman’s got no morals,” whispered Cyril.

  Tiff moved closer and listened to the intriguing conversation.

  Little Betty was oblivious to the conversation outside her gate and tended to the well-kept dahlia bushes that lined the pathway up to her front door. She moved along slowly, meticulously picking at the leaves, dead-heading the old flowers and sniffing the new ones. Now and again she looked up and smiled.

  “Who is she?” Tiff feigned curiosity.

  “Georgie – Georgie Ford.” Cyril replied in a hushed breath. “Watch out for her.”

  Cyril’s last statement, or warning, had been solely directed towards Tiff.

  Inching even closer, Tiff glanced back over her shoulder, before asking the inevitable. “Why? Why should we watch out for her?”

  With his hands buried inside the pockets of his shorts, Joe shuffled uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “Seemed OK when I spoke to her this morning.”

  Cyril held his chin in contemplation, “Hmm…”

  Betty looked up and smiled sweetly before returning to her pruning.

  “Kicked her husband out, a good few years back now. She’s a devious woman – don’t ever trust her.” Cyril turned his head, towards number three with a disdainful look in his old eyes. “Betty and I… we keep our distance.”

  “Oh dear,” said Tiff, considerately, “I’m sorry to hear this. It must be very difficult living so close to someone you don’t get on with.”

  Cyril nodded his head and sighed deeply. “We mind our own business. Bet bakes her cakes and nurtures her flowers – I like the cricket on TV and spend a lot of my time doing crosswords. And we’ve got the birds out the back. We’re happy enough. You’ve probably seen the aviaries from your room upstairs, have you?”

  Tiff shook her head. “Oh, I thought they were two large sheds.”

  “Lovebirds. Like miniature parrots. We have over a hundred of them.” Cyril peered down at the ground forlornly. “We had a lot more… before she came along.” Again, Cyril shot a menacing glance towards number three.

  “So,” said Joe, “how has she upset you?” He paused momentarily before quickly adding, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “I don’t mind,” Cyril replied. “We lived our dream some six years ago…”

  “Anyone like a cup of tea?” Betty moved towards the gate smiling widely. “I have a lemon drizzle cooling in the kitchen if you’d like a slice.”

  Joe glanced at Tiff and grinned. “That would be most kind of you,” he replied, nodding his head eagerly.

  “Yes, thank you,” added Tiff.

  “You’re welcome to come in.” Cyril beckoned towards his house as Betty trotted off with a handful of dead flower heads. “Come and see the birds.”

  “Cool,” said Joe, gladly. “I’ll just get the paint tin covered over.” Grabbing the brushes, he quickly gathered the other things from the garden and placed them carefully inside the hallway. He pulled the key out from the inside of the front door lock, closed the door behind him and locked it.

  Tiff was already inside Cyril and Betty’s house by the time Joe caught up with them.

  It was like stepping back in time to a 1950s, retro American diner. Tiff and Joe marvelled at the bubblegum and neon décor. The kitsch was dominated by a huge American jukebox, standing centrally, against one wall. A brilliant red, Salvador Dali lips sofa sat under the bay window at the front and black and white, chequerboard vinyl flooring covered the entire, open-plan space. Over in the kitchen area, Tiff could see a huge, pastel pink fridge unit dressed with chrome trim and solid looking, pivoting handles. Matching floor and wall units lined a section of the wall and ended at a pink gas stove. The smaller appliances were all chrome and gleamed brightly in the light coming from the wide kitchen window, which was framed by a pair of sugary-pink and powder-blue, abstract design curtains.

  In the dining area stood a Formica topped dining table with four matching chrome and Day-Glo blue chairs. Three flying ducks, increasing in size, adorned the pistachio-green, sprigged floral wallpaper behind the table along with a large, framed photograph of Queen Elizabeth II’s coronation.

  “Wow,” breathed Joe, taking in the colours and intricate detail all around him. “This is truly amazing.”

  Tiff stood alongside him, speechless.

  “Stuck in a time warp,” said Cyril, lightheartedly. “My Betty loves it. I, on the other hand, live with it. I’ve got my birds to keep me happy.”

  “I’m astounded. It is absolutely incredible.” Tiff stared around the exp
ansive space in awe, as the homely smell of baking wafted up her nose.

  “Took three years and as many steel beams,” said Cyril, proudly. “We have no supporting walls downstairs, as you can see. Just these big, old pillars and the beams across the ceilings.” Cyril pointed to three small pillars around the walls and one large solitary one in the middle of the expansive room.

  Tiff imagined that the largest pillar was roughly where their own dining room door began.

  Joe shook his head in disbelief.

  “Old John took one of your walls out, at the back, in his younger days.”

  “Yes,” said Joe, still eyeing the bright décor. “We have a kitchen-diner at the back. We’ve got a lot of work to do in there though.” Turning to look at Tiff, he added, “I’d have my work cut out if Tiff ever wanted anything like this.”

  Tiff giggled, “Not a bad call. I’d love to have a place like this.”

  Eyeing her quizzically, Joe smiled. “Maybe one day.”

  “Have a seat,” said Cyril, ushering Joe and Tiff towards the 1950s dining table. “My Bet will make a lovely pot of tea.”

  Betty had already started to prepare a tray on which she had placed a vintage, gilt-edged sugar bowl, milk jug and matching cups and saucers, all decorated with a delicate rose spray. She counted four heaped spoons of tea leaves into the matching teapot and carefully poured in boiling water. Then she popped a sterling silver tea strainer on the top of one of the cups and carried the tray over to the table. Returning to the kitchen area, she cautiously moved the lemon drizzle cake from its cooling rack and placed it on to a cake stand.

  “This all looks delightful,” said Tiff, eyeing the presentation in front of her. “You are very kind to have gone out of your way to do this for us.”

  “Ooh, it’s no trouble at all dear,” replied Betty as she went back to the kitchen to fetch a cake slice.

  “She does this every day, my dear old Betty. There’s no drinking from mugs in this house.” Cyril laughed. “And there is never a day that we don’t have cake either.”

  “It’s quite apparent that you like to bake,” said Joe. “And you certainly have an amazing kitchen to do it in.”

  Betty nodded her head and removed her apron before sitting down at the table. Dressed in a pink, floral swing-skirt dress which pinched in at the waistband, revealing her tiny figure, it seemed that Betty’s choice in fashion was also stuck in this 1950s time warp. However, it worked. Betty was gracious and pristine in her appearance, and her kitchen was immaculate, bearing in mind she had recently baked two cakes.

  Tiff wondered for a moment whether her own kitchen would look so clean and tidy if she had just whipped up a couple of cakes.

  “Should I pour the tea?” enquired Joe, politely.

  “No, you sit there and have a rest. You’ve been painting all morning. Lemon drizzle cake?”

  Joe nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

  Tiff watched Joe admiringly. His impeccable manners were second to none. His general thoughtfulness and consideration for others outshone many of his friends and rugby associates. He was a dream-like character in so many ways. So why hadn’t he told her about his chat with Georgie Ford this morning?

  “So…” said Tiff, tentatively, “you were saying you lived your dream six years ago?”

  “Ah yes.” Cyril turned to look at Betty.

  She nodded her head approvingly and smiled.

  “We had wanted to visit the USA for years and years. Tour the states, see the sights and turn it in to a one-month dream holiday.” Cyril took a cup of tea from Betty and smiled at her. “But it just wasn’t possible…”

  “Oh – why?” asked Joe, curiously.

  “The birds. We didn’t have any family close enough to look after them.”

  Joe and Tiff nodded their heads appreciatively.

  “And at that time we didn’t know anyone in the close well enough either.”

  “The community centre has brought us all together since though. We do love the community centre, don’t we Cyril.” Betty added.

  “Is that the one just along the main road?” asked Tiff.

  “Yes, Hillhead Community Centre – very nice place, they have OAP days on Tuesdays and Fridays,” said Betty, as she cut large slices of cake and placed them on the small, decorative plates. “Now and again we arrange outings and trips on Saturdays too.”

  “That’s nice,” Tiff replied with a warm smile. “Do they do charitable fayres – things like that?”

  “Oh yes. You must come along. I’m always there – I like to help out with other events that go on during the week too. They could always do with an extra hand.”

  “I will pop along and see if there’s anything I can do. I’m always interested in helping the local community in any way I can. Thank you.” Tiff turned to look at Joe and then Cyril. “Sorry, please do go on.”

  “John, next door, had been in hospital for some time, after one of his operations. Hip replacement, I do believe it was at the time, so we couldn’t have asked him to look after the birds either. God rest his soul.” Cyril peered down into his cup.

  “So you asked Georgie?” Joe enquired.

  “No. Actually we didn’t. I was talking to her one day, out on the green. She was giving me this sob story about her terrible husband and how she couldn’t take much more of him. He’d already left but…” Cyril took a sip from his tea and then sighed. “Well, she said she needed a holiday and we then got on to the subject of dream holidays.”

  “She offered – it was her idea,” said Betty in a troubled tone.

  Nodding his head, Cyril sighed again. “Yes, she did. We were so excited about the possibility of really living our dream. Georgie seemed like a lovely girl. Troubled by marital problems, yes, but she came across as a very kind and caring woman. Her daughter, Sophie, was just two years old so Georgie stayed at home to raise her. We saw quite a lot of her after that day on the green. The more we saw her, the more we liked her.” Cyril puffed out his cheeks and let a stream of breath out slowly. “We had no idea of what she was really like.”

  “Sounds ominous,” said Joe, worriedly.

  Cyril and Betty simultaneously nodded their heads as sombre expressions crept over their withered faces.

  “She insisted that we should have our holiday, especially as we were growing older. She vowed that she would take care of the birds for a whole month.” Cyril cleared his gravelly throat and continued. “We offered her £400 to take care of them. She wouldn’t take it at first.”

  Joe and Tiff slowly nibbled their way through the fabulously flavoursome lemon drizzle cake as they listened to the seemingly, incredulous tale.

  “So that was that. We were off,” said Cyril. “Georgie had clear instructions on how to care for the birds. She knew what to do and when to do it.”

  “We did get our dream holiday,” added Betty, “but at a very high price. I told Cyril not to pay her before, and to wait until we returned.” Betty shook her head sadly. “Soppy old Cyril thought she would need the money beforehand and in the weeks leading up to our departure, he’d doubled the amount he’d offered to pay her.”

  “So you paid her… £800?” asked Joe, reproachfully. “I mean; I don’t want to sound rude but I’m guessing that things did not turn out well.”

  Cyril nodded his head as the corners of his mouth turned down. “No, things did not go well.”

  Listening in silence, Tiff watched Joe’s expression change as the story unfolded.

  “My birds are precious to me. I wanted to make sure that they were well cared for so I offered her more money. I thought that £200 a week would help her and also ensure that the birds were very well looked after.”

  Joe nodded and smiled agreeably. “I take it she didn’t look after them?”

  “Over half of them were dead when we got home. The cages were in an appalling state. I’m sure she hadn’t cleaned them out once – although she said something to the contrary.”

  “Oh no, I’m so
sorry to hear that,” said Tiff, softly. “It must have been a terrible shock for you.”

  “Yes…” mumbled Cyril. “Betty had a nasty shock too – she discovered them first.”

  “I did.” Betty joined in. “There was a nasty smell in my kitchen. I couldn’t work out where it was coming from… until I looked in the swing-bin.” Shaking her head in disgust, Betty tutted and shuddered. “Yes, there were four dead, rotting birds at the bottom of the bin – buried under sheets of paper towel.”

  “That woman had not fed them. She hadn’t given them water. She hadn’t opened the windows every day – especially as it was the summer time – to allow some air to circulate. She hadn’t done anything.” A look of bitterness crept over Cyril’s face.

  “What did she say? I’m assuming that you went round to see her?” asked Joe.

  “She said she’d fed them and given them water but she didn’t think that they looked well. She said that she became ill after the first week and feared that she had caught something from the birds. Apparently, she didn’t see the birds for a few days, due to her illness, and when she went back a couple of them had died. She told me that she hadn’t known what to do and just kept on feeding them and giving them water.” Cyril drew in a deep breath and sighed. “I know she didn’t give them water often, as when we returned home, the water trays were bone dry. It was stiflingly hot and acrid in the aviaries too. They hadn’t been cleaned out at all – I could tell that, by the amount and consistency of the droppings festering in the heat.”

  “Anyone like another cup of tea,” asked Betty as the atmosphere in the room grew heavy.

  “Yes, please,” said Joe. “I think we have time for another.” Peering across to Tiff, he smiled weakly.

  Tiff nodded and smiled back. “That would be lovely. Thank you Betty.”

  “How many did you lose?” asked Joe, compassionately.

  “Including the four in the bin, we counted 53.”

  “Oh dear, that’s a lot. Did she say why she’d put them in the bin?”

  “According to her, they were the first ones to die. She didn’t know what to do with them and discarded them in the bin. Stupid woman – did she not think that they would begin to fester and rot?”